She had demonstrated again and again that she could not save Jeremiah alone. Without Covenant, she was inadequate to the task.
Gazing steadily through her eyelids at the Land's redeemer, she murmured his name in an exultation of fires. Then she brought her hands together, wild magic and Earthpower.
A blast that seemed to quell the stars erupted from Loric's krill. Deliberately she invoked a concussion which compelled conflicting energies to become one.
This was not culmination. It was apotheosis. Power shocked the bedrock of the world: it strove to claim the sky. Convulsions like the earthquake under Melenkurion Skyweir cast reality into madness.
Around the vale, the Wraiths scattered suddenly; fled and winked out. They may have been screaming. Someone wailed or roared: Elena or Kevin, Infelice or the Harrow. Emotions trumpeted from the High Lords. But Linden heeded nothing except Covenant and her own purpose.
Through the gem, her powers took hold of him as if she had chosen to incinerate his soul.
An instant later, the sheer scale of the forces which she had unleashed overwhelmed her; and the world was swept away.
Covenant's agony must have been terrible to behold. His cry of protest may have deafened the night. But Linden was no longer able to see or hear him. Absolute vastness stunned every nerve in her body, every impulse in her mind. For a moment, her detonation left her entirely insensate, unable to feel or think or move. She did not know that she had dropped Covenant's ring as if it had scalded her. Her fingers were too numb to realize that the Staff had slipped from her grasp. Her eyes might as well have been charred away: she did not see the knits coruscating puissance rupture and vanish, blown apart by fundamental contradictions.
She did not recognize what she had done until darkness reasserted her mortality, and the frantic labor of her pulse began to force new awareness into her muscles and nerves.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Covenant's resurrected form standing, twisted with pain, on the far side of the blank gem, the dead stump. Theurgies flared and spat from his arms, his shoulders, his chest. Linden had burned him as badly as Lord Foul had burned him in Kiril Threndor. But she had burned him to life instead of death. The fading energies of his transformation wracked him as though he had emerged from a bonfire.
Like Joan, he bore the consequences of too much time.
Yet he was alive. In some sense, he was whole; unmarked except by his old wounds. Even his clothes were intact. Linden could see the rent in his T-shirt where he had been stabbed for Joan's sake. His hair was tousled silver like reified white gold.
Fires flickered up and down his body. They were the only light in the vale; or in Andelain; or in the Land. Slowly they exhausted themselves and went out.
While the last wisps of power streamed from his eyes, Covenant forced himself to straighten his back and look at Linden.
He took one step toward her, then another, before his legs failed and he plunged to his knees. Still upright, he gazed at her with such dismay that her throat closed. She could not breathe.
"Oh, Linden." His first words to her were a hoarse gasp. "What have you done?"
"Done, Timewarden?" Infelice snapped viciously. "Done? She has roused the Worm of the World's End. Such magicks must be answered. Because of her madness and folly, every Elohim will be devoured."
Abruptly the krilts gem began to shine again. Its light throbbed like a heart in ecstasy, as if it echoed Joan's distant excitement-or Lord Foul's.
Hyn's dolorous whickering reminded Linden that the Ranyhyn had tried to warn her.
Here ends
Fatal Revenant